“No,” she said, “the event has not come off—it will not come off. The man is dead—died in India. He was a non-commissioned officer, you know. I daresay it is all for the best for Rachel. I tell her so. He had been away more than three years, and, as I say to her, who knows what habits he may have acquired. A change of service would have been very trying to me. Now I daresay we shall rub on together to the end, and Rachel can trust us to provide for her. She’s generally very sensible, poor thing, and reasonable. I’ve never had to put my foot down firmly but once, which was when he went to India, and she wanted to wear a ring he gave her. A decent enough ring—nothing but engraved gold—it would have done for her keeper-ring if they had ever got married. But, of course, I could not allow such a thing, and she fretted a little—it was after he had gone—and she gave me notice, and said she should take a place in a shop. Then she got letters from him, and I think he advised her to stay in the place where he had left her.” “She knew where she was well off,” interpolated Mrs. Brand. “Very likely he did not want it on his conscience that she had given up a snug place for his ring. If he had ever wanted to change his mind, it would have made things harder for him. I think he was a decent, considerate sort of man,” the old lady went on. “At any rate, Rachel stayed. It is a little depressing for me now, always seeing her sad face. I gave her a holiday for a while, hoping she’d come back all right. But really her face seems set that way, and perhaps it does not mean that she feels so much as it looks.” “It is not pleasant to have grieving people about,” assented Florence. “It is very kind of you to be so patient and forbearing. But, then, you have such a big and tender heart.”